


bad habit

by songs



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character Study, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-06-01 02:17:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6496885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songs/pseuds/songs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And Oikawa hates the way he gets. Hates how certain matters sting, and hurt, even though they aren’t meant to. <i>Oversensitive. Calculating. Crybaby.</i> They don’t match up. Logically, Oikawa knows when he’s being silly. And Oikawa’s logic is almost unmatched, has won him countless games, and the trust of nearly every teammate he’s ever worked with. But Oikawa’s logic is no match for Oikawa’s heart, which is a very fraught, wanting thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bad habit

☆

☆

☆

 

Iwaizumi never calls first.

 

Oikawa doesn’t mean to notice this, really. But some things are just habit.

 

And, well— Oikawa has many habits. _Noticing things,_ for instance, then reading too deeply into them. _It’s just the way I am,_ he tells himself, _I can’t change the way my mind works._ Just like he can’t change the way he craves milk-bread during his morning-classes, the way he never starts his homework before moonrise, when all the other lights are out.

 

See, Oikawa is no labyrinth, despite all his best efforts. He’s sure Iwaizumi already has all of these oddities memorized somewhere— a short, yellowed catalogue, hardly changed throughout the years. Oikawa’s never been one to tinker with unbroken things. Favorite sport, favorite food, _favorite person._ Oikawa likes what he likes, does what he does. He’s never been one to sway.

 

So, when Oikawa gets into the habit of calling his best friend every other evening— _10 p.m. sharp: after practice and before Iwaizumi lulls to sleep—_ he doesn’t think to stop. The conversations are always nice, calming— the two of them chat about work and classes, about the events of their days and the people they’ve met. Oikawa usually brings up volleyball, and Iwaizumi listens with a trained, but distant ear. It’s not until midway through the semester that Oikawa realizes that volleyball may still be all-encompassing in _his_ life, but it’s no longer one of Iwaizumi’s priorities. It’s a memory, a fond one, like beetle-catching or stargazing in the woods.

 

Oikawa talks about it less, after that.

 

And Oikawa hates the way he gets. Hates how certain matters sting, and hurt, even though they aren’t meant to. _Oversensitive. Calculating. Crybaby._ They don’t match up. Logically, Oikawa knows when he’s being silly. And Oikawa’s logic is almost unmatched, has won him countless games, and the trust of nearly every teammate he’s ever worked with. But Oikawa’s logic is no match for Oikawa’s heart, which is a very fraught, wanting thing.

Oikawa’s heart had been hooked to his tear-ducts in childhood, and would set off a lagoon of waterworks over every little issue. Nowadays, his heart toys with his mind, dragging certain memories to the surface in the ugliest of ways. Iwaizumi’s voice in springtime: _I didn’t apply to any universities in Tokyo._ Again, under the moon: _I’m not going to play volleyball anymore._ There are other voices, too, warm and gentle and biting— _Tooru, we’re so proud. Tooru, you’re so successful. Don’t forget us, please._

 

Oikawa Tooru is a success story. He sits curled in the single bedroom of his clean, Tokyo apartment, with his Tsukuba University jersey folded neatly beside him, with his expensive runners in the foyer and a stack of blush-pink love-letters on his coffee-table. By all accounts, Oikawa is the one who left everything behind. He’s the one who’s supposed to grow, to shine, to win.

Yet sometimes he wonders if volleyball—if all his dreaming— has been just one, over-extended habit, or ritual. He feels like a broken record, with the same set of wants and insecurities that he’s had since childhood. _I’ll never be a genius. I have to practice to win._ But everyone else is changing, with talk of future jobs and travel and new friends. Everyone else is growing up.

 

But Oikawa Tooru is still just the same.

 

_I didn’t apply to any universities in Tokyo. I’m not going to play volleyball anymore._

Oikawa stares at the clock: _9:59 P.M._ His finger hovers over the first contact on his favorite’s list.

 

He doesn’t press it.

 

☆

☆

☆

 

Three days pass, and no call from Iwaizumi. Oikawa had expected as much. And not in a clingy, whiny way, but in the sense that he knows Iwaizumi. _Iwa-chan, never one for technology. Iwa-chan, never one to be sappy._

He knows Iwaizumi as well as you’d know anyone you’ve been friends with for fifteen years. It’s just the way things work. But people change, and people outgrow things. Oikawa’s always hated giving away clothes he stopped fitting into. He hated when his old CD-player stopped working and his _Star Wars_ DVD’s got too scratched up to watch anymore. Iwaizumi used to make fun of him for it, would say,  _You can always get a new one, idiot._

_But it’s not the same,_ Oikawa would tell him. _They don’t mean the same thing._

Everyone always figured Iwaizumi was the steady one. The rock, the home, the anchor. Oikawa Tooru, after all, seemed so very fickle. But Iwaizumi had, time and time again, been the one to change things, to rattle the status quo. _We’re too old to call each other by our first names. We can’t sleep in the same bed anymore. No more sharing ice-cream, no more handholding. I didn’t apply to any universities in Tokyo. I’m not going to play volleyball anymore._

Oikawa sits in his new bed in his new apartment in his old, ratty, green-alien pajamas. It’s Saturday morning. He has practice in an hour.

 

He shoves his phone into his gym-bag, and decides to leave early.

 

☆

☆

☆

 

“…ooru. _Hey,_ Oikawa Tooru-san—!”

 

Oikawa jolts, barely dodging a volleyball to the face. Another first-year apologizes to him from across the net. He holds up a hand in acknowledgment, and gives a plastic smile, saying not to worry about it.

 

He then turns to the side, remembering that voice of warning. It’s one of the university team’s managers— Shimizu Kiyoko, the beautiful girl from Karasuno. She gazes up at him now with a raised eyebrow, and what might be a twinge of concern. Oikawa vaguely recalls that she ignored him, once, when he’d tried to flirt with her in high school.

 

“My savior,” he singsongs now. “ _Kiyoko-chan_ ~!”

 

He almost expects her to walk away. But instead, she says, “It’s dangerous.”

 

Oikawa tilts his head. “What is?” he asks her.

 

“Living only in your head,” she warns. “Sometimes, you need to remember to get out.”

 

☆

☆

☆

 

Oikawa has friends. He’s always made them easily. He’s never actually, technically alone. There’s always a new girl, another date. A study-group, a team party. There’re tons of people, orbiting in and out of his life.

 

But there’s no permanence. The starry-eyed classmates, the girls with their love-notes, the interviewers, the newspapers— they’re all after a fairytale. They’re all head over heels for a pretty boy with a pretty story and an ugly, powerful resolve. _Oikawa Tooru, never a genius, but always a winner, closing the gaps with all his grit, his want._

 

Everyone wants him but it’s so conditional— the expectations, the support, the desire— how quickly will it vanish if he fails? Rags to riches. The underdog. Oikawa is both and neither. He’s at the peak of the wrong mountain, and the fall is steep and beckoning. _I haven’t even done anything yet,_ he wants to scream out. _I still haven’t reached the level I want. Ushijima is already there. The height is so high but I’m stuck in the wrong place._ _I can work as hard as I want. But why isn’t the rift getting any narrower?_

Maybe he’s been too caught up in all these bad habits. Oikawa, always insecure. Oikawa always climbing. Always about volleyball, always about his knee, about his yearning. Oikawa always ruining his eyes, watching old matches deep into the night. Always calling too late, even though Iwaizumi is tired, because he has a job, and a maybe-girlfriend, and a tough major to boot.

 

Oikawa, never one to outgrow anything. But so very easy to outgrow.

 

☆

☆

☆

 

Oikawa gets selected as starting setter for the team’s next match. Tsukuba wins both sets almost effortlessly— 25 to 17 and 25 to 12. Everyone is thrilled, Oikawa most of all— as his teammates clap him on the back, when even Shimizu Kiyoko squeezes his shoulder.

 

They go out for celebratory drinks, and Oikawa spends most of the night with Sugawara Koushi, Karasuno’s old reserve setter, and Tsukuba’s reserve-reserve-reserve.

 

It’s kind of uncomfortable. Oikawa feels the irony. _Both of us displaced by the same genius. How differently we handled that._

 

Tonight, Sugawara tells him, “It’s okay, you know.”

 

Oikawa blinks. “What was that, _Suga-chan_?”

 

He means to sneer out the other boy’s name, but it just sounds slurred. Sugawara laughs, graceful as ever.

 

“It’s okay to be happy about this,” he says, “even if something else is upsetting you. People aren’t built to only feel one thing at a time.”

 

Oikawa does snarl, this time. “Who said I was upset? What do I have to be upset about?”

 

_That I’m not a genius? That my best friend is fine without me? That I’m terrified of being replaced, no matter where I go?  
_

_I don’t want a new Iwa-chan,_ he longs to hiss at Sugawara. _I already have someone who can read me. I don’t need anyone else to peer in that deeply. I don’t need anyone else to get sick of the me that’s underneath._

Sugawara shrugs, a crescent of a smile on his lips. “You don’t have to have something you’re upset about. Sometimes, we’re just upset. It’s an emotion, not an effect. They don't always make sense, Oikawa- _san_.”

 

Oikawa has nothing to say, to that. Sugawara smiles again, before taking his leave.

 

☆

☆

☆

 

 _I miss you—_ yes, he could go with that. But isn’t it kind of desperate, after only two months of being separated?

 

 _It’s been a while_ — but they just talked last week, before Oikawa stopped calling.

 

 _I think I’m in love with you. Please don’t leave me—_ no, no. and _No._

 

Oikawa’s fingers tremble over his cellphone-screen. Why is this so hard? Why did he avoid calling Iwaizumi in the first place? It only makes it so much more difficult to call him, now.

 

 _I’m sorry that I always hold you back with my problems. I’m sorry I’m still mad at you for choosing not to come with me. I’m sorry I blame you when I shouldn’t. I’m sorry I feel like you’re better off without me, but still keep clawing you back to where I can see you. I’m sorry I want_ you _more than I want you to be happy. I’m sorry I’m the way I am. I’m sorry I’m apologizing for the way I am, because you’ve always hated when I get self-pitying. I’m sorry I won’t let you forget me. I’m sorry I need you so much. I’m sorry I want you to need me._

 

He’s about to hit the _call_ button, when his phone begins to vibrate. The touch-screen goes dark, except for a single name.

 

_Incoming Call From Iwa-Chan._

Oikawa presses _accept_ immediately, and brings the phone to his ear.

 

 _I miss you. I love you. I need you._ It’s 10 P.M. Starlight streams through Oikawa’s half-open window. His heart stammers, before slowing to a calm, even beat. There’s a clatter of static over the line, but Iwaizumi’s voice rings soft, and clear.

 

He says, “Hey.”

**Author's Note:**

> so here's an emo-fest if i've ever written one. i'm sorry if this comes across as OOC, i just. feel so deeply and viscerally for oikawa and i feel like i needed to meta that. so what did i do? write sad sappy fic. i'm so sorry.


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